


i was looking, you had dead eyes

by thisapathy



Series: come sink into me and let me breathe you in [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisapathy/pseuds/thisapathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Michonne finds them, Carl knows whatever the hell he and Rick have is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was looking, you had dead eyes

**Author's Note:**

> i was having a hard time coping emotionally this week so i took it out on carl. ~~sorry, carl~~
> 
> i wrote this for my own benefit, but decided to share it here. set in 4x16, mostly, including the [deleted scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4423oVM4Yoo). unbeta'd. takes place after [i'll be your gravity, you be my oxygen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4920334)

As soon as Rick says the door is for Carl, his first thought is that maybe it's someone—Beth, maybe—with Judy.

He's wrong on both counts; it's Michonne, and she's by herself. Carl's disappointed, but he shoves the sofa back from the door and yanks it open regardless. As he's hugging Michonne tight, he reminds himself to stop hoping for things that will probably never come.

* * *

He and Michonne go on a supply run. He wants Rick to go, too, but Rick's still too weak. As much as he wants to protest, he doesn't, acts like he's hungry instead of upset. Says he'll go with Michonne and follow her lead. He will, but he'll wish Rick would be with them, too.

"I'll see you in a couple hours," Rick says, a hand to Carl's shoulder.

He doesn't nod, doesn't say anything else.

* * *

They scavenge for what feels like hours.

Carl feels like he's hit the jackpot when he finds an unopened pack of Trident gum and a bottle of silicone lube. He's grossed out initially, is torn whether or not to take some most-likely-dead person's used lube, wonders if he and Rick will ever be alone again to use it.

He takes it anyway, shoving it to the bottom of his own backpack.

* * *

The next time he and Rick are alone, the circumstances aren't ideal by any means; they're out in the open again. The threat of walkers, other people, bad weather are all relevant again. But he and Rick are side by side, arms brushing, and for now it's enough.

Michonne goes ahead of them, hollers that she'll circle back around. As soon as she's out of sight, Rick grabs Carl's jacket sleeve, pulls him closer, nuzzles the crook of his neck with no explanation.

Carl feels warm, safe. Feels himself smiling, rubs his head against Rick's shoulder in return and pulls away.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"When we heard the guy scream, why didn't you go help?"

Rick's silent.

"Dad?"

"Might've done that before."

"Before what?"

"Before we were out here. I want you to be safe, Carl, above everything else. Above everyone else. You understand?"

"I guess so."

"You didn't think about it, you just did it. That's who you are. Carl, you're a man. You're a good man. Your mom would be proud; I'm proud, but I didn't like it. You gotta be careful out here... more careful than before."

"Hey!" Michonne hollers, and Carl jumps. "There's a deer trail up ahead. It connects to a road."

Rick nods, and they're not alone anymore.

* * *

They don't find the deer, but they do find a '89 Suburban left to decay in the middle of the road. They decide it'll be camp for the night.

Rick roasts the ridiculously small excuse of a rabbit for dinner. Carl notices that Rick skimps on his own portion, gives Carl more than his fair share. He feels guilty when he eats, doesn't argue, though, because arguing wouldn't get him anywhere.

He's exhausted. They all are. But Rick insists that Carl go to sleep in the Suburban.

Carl doesn't argue.

* * *

A hand slaps against the glass with a loud thud, a knife with a crisp clink. A fat balding man with a disgusting grin that Carl's never seen before. He sits up, heart pounding.

He glances through the cracked windshield at Rick and Michonne. Both held at gunpoint.

He glances back at the fat man who's still grinning, can't possibly see how he can get out. And then it's Daryl and they're talking and Carl can't hear them. Daryl's dropping his bow and offering himself.

It doesn't work.

The car shakes with the force of Daryl's body being thrown against it.

The car door squeaks open and Carl's tugged out and he doesn't even have time to react before the knife is held at his throat.

"You leave him be!" Rick growls.

Carl tries to focus, hears talking, can't concentrate, tries to fight, but he's shoved to the ground. He hears Rick's desperate 'let him go' and is face-to-face with the fat man.

"Stop your squirmin'."

"Let him go," Rick repeats.

There's a gunshot. Carl strains, reaches for the knife. More talking, another gunshot.

And then he's on his belly, cheek against the ground, mouth filled with dirt, hand against the back of his head. Hears against the distinct clinking of a belt buckle, more laughing. All he senses is stench, weight, filth, power. There's nothing he can do.

"Leave him be!"

He watches Rick rip out a hunk of flesh with the same mouth that pressed such sweet kisses to his neck.

There's gurgling; a body drops. Carl dares to look. Rick's covered in blood, mouth dripping.

Two gunshots, two more bodies drop, and then Carl's yanked to his feet and the knife is at his throat.

Michonne stands, gun pointed at the fat man.

"I'll kill him!" the fat man screams. "I'll kill him!"

"Let the boy go!"

Rick stands, draws his knife. "He's mine."

Carl's thrown to the ground. Michonne kneels, grabs him, holds him. The fat man pleads; Rick's relentless. Stabs him, guts him, stabs him over and over. Carl doesn't know how many times, stops counting at 10, but Rick keeps stabbing and stabbing and Carl can't look away.

But when the man's lifeless body drops to the ground, Carl pulls out of Michonne's grip. He's scared, he's fucking terrified, he's shaking. Even at the sight of Rick's bloody hands and face, there's nothing Carl wants more right now than for Rick to hold him. He reaches, his own hand bloodied far less than his father's.

Rick dodges his touch.

"Dad," he pleads.

But Rick ignores him, turns away, arms hanging at his side like limp pieces of cloth.

Daryl's watching like Daryl's always watching; Carl feels his gaze. He reaches out, hand tentative, and squeezes Carl's shoulder.

"S'alright," Daryl mutters.

Carl doesn't know what exactly Daryl's talking about and doesn't really care because it's not true. _Nothing_ is alright, especially now.

It hasn't even dawned on Carl that he might be hurt physically. He examines himself quickly: legs, arms, fingers, face. He hisses when his fingertips graze over the scrape on his cheek. It's not disfiguring, but it's painful, and there's also a smaller scrape on his neck. He doesn't care, really, because he wants. All he wants is for Rick to hold him, tell him it's going to be okay, but Rick doesn't. He won't.

When Michonne stands up and drapes her arm over Carl's shoulders, he lets her guide him back to the Suburban. He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep, but he falls asleep with his head in her lap to the sound of her even breathing.

* * *

The next day, on the tracks, Carl falls to the back of the group. Rick doesn't seem to notice. Michonne probably notices, but stays quiet. Daryl, unexpectedly, is the one who checks on Carl the most. Carl notices that Daryl makes an act of it, looking from side to side and then back at Carl. It annoys him, but knowing Daryl actually cares makes him feel a little better.

Daryl still sees him as a kid; he knows that. Michonne does, too. (Rick doesn't because _Carl, you're a man._ ) Maybe if Carl stops fighting so hard to become an equal, they'll be more willing to accept that he, in fact, doesn't need to be watched constantly.

When Daryl isn't looking, Carl stares at the back of Rick's head, waiting for him to turn around, waiting for some sign to show him that Rick still cares.

As the miles drag on, Rick doesn't turn around.

Carl still doesn't understand because _it's not his fault, it's not his fault, it's not his fault_. He didn't ask to be dragged from the car, thrown on the ground, almost raped at knife point.

He can't fix it and it's killing him.

* * *

They reach the Terminus fences, can't see much aside from the name sprawled across the back of the building.

"We all spread out, watch for a while, see what we see. Get ready. We all stay close." He turns to Carl. "You wanna stick with me?"

Carl doesn't expect the question, doesn't miss a beat, though, doesn't even think about it. "It's alright," he says, because it is; it's alright that Rick doesn't care anymore.

Michonne knows so much more than she probably should. Carl knows that she knows he's hurting, and he knows she thinks she knows why. She opens up to him, tells him the story of how Andre died.

"I see how you've been looking at your dad," she murmurs. "You don't have to be afraid of me. Or him."

And Carl can talk to Michonne because she's easy to talk to. He couldn't talk to Rick if he wanted, doesn't know what he'd say. He has to drop his gaze because he can't look Michonne in the eye. If she knew, if she really knew why Carl is so distant and upset and wary of Rick, he's not sure Rick would still be alive. If she figures it out, if Daryl figures it out, if they find the rest of their group in Terminus and any of them find out, Rick's as good as dead anyway. But Carl doesn't worry about that because _if, if, if._

* * *

They run into a trap, guns aimed at them from every direction. Carl watches, mouth agape, as Rick surveys the situation and turns to him. And then Daryl, and then Michonne.

"Drop your weapons! Now," Gareth demands.

Rick glances back to Carl, and Carl's still staring, mouth agape, chest heaving.

" _Now_!"

Daryl drops first, Rick, Carl, Michonne. Daryl's knife is the last thing to hit the ground.

"Ring leader, go to your left. The train car. Go. You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies, and you end up in there anyway."

Carl's still staring, gaze unmoving from his father, breath still heavy. They lock eyes and Rick nods, just barely, and starts toward the car and maybe this is the end of everything.

"Now the archer."

Daryl goes.

"Now the samurai."

Michonne follows.

"Stand at the door. Ring leader, archer, samurai, in that order."

Carl's paralyzed with fear, left standing alone between 2 sets of tracks. He's staring at Rick, and Rick is staring right back. Carl's waiting, waiting, waiting.

"My son!" Rick yells.

And finally: "Go, kid."

It takes all of Carl's strength, all his effort not to run to the train car. He walks, steady, all eyes on him. And then Gareth's talking again.

"Ring leader, open the door and go in."

"I'll go in with him," Rick hollers.

"Don't make us kill him now."

Rick goes up the steps, slides the door open. Carl's still walking, heart pounding faster than ever before, and then he's at the steps.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

Rick meets Carl at the door, hand heavy and possessive at the back of his neck, pulling him close. Carl grabs for Rick almost as desperately, fingers curling into Rick's jacket, their torsos nearly touching. And it feels so good, so safe, despite everything around them.

Carl lets go, but Rick holds on longer than he should, hand finally stroking over his shoulder and down his arm.

And then: "Rick?"

"You're here," Rick says in disbelief. "You're here."

"They're our friends," Maggie tells him. "They helped save us."

"Yeah," Daryl says, gruff. "Now they're friends o' ours."

"For however long that'll be."

"No," Rick says. "They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out."

"Find out what?"

"They're fucking with the wrong people."

Carl collapses, back against the wall of the train car. He slides to the floor, legs too tired to stand any longer.

"Get some rest," Rick says to the rest of the group. "We'll get to work tomorrow."

It's cold, only getting colder, and the sun is already setting. Michonne crosses to the other side of the car, sits down with Maggie and Bob. Rick's still standing and Carl doesn't even bother to watch him to see where he's going to sit. Instead, Carl pulls his hat off his head and sets it beside him, closing his eyes.

He's so tired, so _incredibly_ tired, would give anything to be back in that house, alone, with Rick. He tortures himself, wonders what could have been, how long they could've stayed together. Wonders if Rick would've let him sleep against his chest. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

"Hey."

Carl opens his eyes, turns his head to see Rick sitting beside him. It's unexpected, and Carl doesn't know if he should engage him or ignore him or push him away. He doesn't know which will hurt worse.

Softer this time: "Hey."

"What?"

Rick motions, arm outstretched, and it's dark in the car but there's enough light coming in to see that Rick is beckoning him closer. As much as Carl wants to pull away, he's drawn into the crook of his father's arm. He can't help it, huddles close to Rick's side and no one's paying attention. It wouldn't matter if they were; their embrace is nothing out of the ordinary.

Rick sighs, noses his hair. "I'm sorry," he says. For what, Carl doesn't know. Maybe for pushing him away when Carl needed him the most, maybe for letting that man drag Carl from the car, maybe for leading him into Terminus.

Carl nods, chooses not to say anything else, accepts the comforting gesture of Rick finger combing his hair. And they're not alone and he's not sleeping on Rick's chest, but they're together and for now that's enough.


End file.
